Children of Gaia
by Taney
Summary: What men forget, the Planet remembers to its sorrow... An Aerith x Sephiroth resurrection story.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own FF7. **

**Author's Note:** This story is based only on the events of the original FF7 game and may not be consistent with any sequels or prequels. The 'M' rating is for adult content in later chapters. As for the exact setting...well, you and the protagonists can make that discovery together. ;) Happy reading!

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**Children of Gaia**

_Chapter One_

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_Wake, my child. _

Aerith grimaced at the sound, squeezing her eyelids shut even tighter as she struggled to hold on to her fading dream. She'd been standing in a field of wildflowers—what colors had they been?—with her birth mother, Ifalna.

_Aerith…_

She rolled onto her side, curling into a ball. The images were slipping faster, trickling away like water through her fingers. Her mother was telling her something, and her eyes were sad—so very, very sad.

"Please, Mama," she said faintly, tears seeping from the corners of her eyes as her mother's face darkened into obscurity. "Please…don't go."

_My Aerith…_

The voice was louder now, too loud to be ignored. It thrummed within her, awakening her senses. She could feel the heat of the sun—see its light glowing red behind her eyelids. In her moment of distraction, the last traces of her dream were swept into oblivion, leaving her with only a vague feeling of despair.

_WAKE,_ the voice boomed.

Aerith woke, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked against the harsh light of day. Slowly, the world above her came into focus, swathes of white clouds drifting lazily across an azure sky. Inside her head sang a familiar chorus.

_Where am I?_ she wondered faintly as she pushed herself into a sitting position, petals falling from her unbound hair.

She lay naked upon a bed of blue and yellow flowers, surrounded by walls of creeping vines and by trees whose branches were laden with succulent fruit. At the sight of this fruit, her stomach rumbled loudly.

_I'm hungry_, she realized dully, placing a hand to her belly. _Yes, of course I am. I haven't eaten since…_

Strangely, Aerith drew a blank. All her memories seemed enveloped in a thick fog that her mind could not penetrate.

After a few more minutes of internal struggle, Aerith found her hunger pains too intense to ignore. With effort, she rose to her feet, her weak muscles trembling under the strain. Twice she collapsed to the ground on her way to the fruit tree.

_What is _wrong_ with me?_ she thought in frustration, her nails digging into the soft earth. _Am I still sleeping? Is this just another dream?_

But the sun burned so hotly on her bare skin. And hadn't that been pain she'd felt when her knees had struck the ground? No dream could be this real.

Summoning all her strength, Aerith stood once more and, despite a few close calls, reached her destination. Panting from exertion, she grasped the nearest tree branch and clung to it for support. When at last her breathing slowed and her heart stopped pounding in her ears, she gave the branch as forceful a shake as she could muster.

Three fat pears fell heavily to the grass below, one narrowly missing her shoulder. Lowering herself gently into a crouch, she reached for the closest fruit and found a blackened hole in its side. Rotten.

Repulsed, she tossed it aside and crawled to the next pear, which had rolled to a stop only a few feet away. Aside from a slight bruise, this fruit was unmarred, and Aerith devoured it greedily, juice spilling down her chin.

Her hunger pains had barely subsided when all of a sudden her stomach rebelled, and Aerith pitched to the side, retching up her hard-earned meal. Perhaps an hour passed before she was willing to try again. This time, she only nibbled at the pear off and on as she reclined against the trunk of the tree, and her stomach managed to hold the food down.

She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until her eyes opened to a night sky, speckled with stars. Feeling stronger, she eased herself up from the base of the tree and returned to the soft bed of flowers. She supposed she should feel afraid, alone in the darkness of a strange forest. But the voices in her head told her that this was a sacred place. Didn't she remember?

Aerith didn't remember, but she trusted the voices all the same. And besides, she was far too weary to let her fears keep her awake. Her eyelids fell like heavy curtains as she lay down her head and drifted away.

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Thirty days had passed since he'd awoken next to the stream. The first few days had been spent in agony. He'd felt as though a thousand blunted knives were stabbing into his skin, the blood beneath seeming to boil in his veins. He had wondered if this was another one of Hojo's twisted experiments.

As the pain had eventually faded and he'd found himself stranded in an unknown wilderness, his suspicions had only grown. His sword and armor had been nowhere in sight, rendering him completely defenseless. It had seemed that Hojo wanted to test his raw survival skills.

Weakened by what he'd perceived to be the aftereffects of another Mako injection, Sephiroth had allowed himself a few more hours of rest before he'd attempted to complete the supposed test. During his rest, he had tried to remember what he must have done to incite the scientist's wrath. Even for Hojo, this was extreme.

Vaguely, he'd been able to recall a confrontation. He had agreed to oversee a mission that Hojo hadn't approved of. But the details of the mission had eluded him. Once the excess Mako left his system, Sephiroth had assumed that his memory of the disagreement would return. Of course, by then, he had hoped to be done with this absurd trial.

But after the first week had passed, Sephiroth had begun to question his theory about this being another one of Hojo's experiments. He had known from the positions of the stars that he was somewhere outside of Midgar, but the terrain was simply wrong. No forests this dense existed anywhere close to the city.

To hunt and to defend himself, he had fashioned a crude spear out of a sharp stone he'd found at the bottom of the stream, securing the stone to a sturdy branch with several feet of tough, dried vine. At first he had stuck closely to the stream, surviving off the fish he'd managed to spear. But as the days had become weeks and as his doubts had continued to grow, Sephiroth had found himself venturing further from the stream, into the wilderness beyond.

He had decided to return to Headquarters, Hojo be damned. He'd wasted enough time sitting by the stream awaiting retrieval. Perhaps Hojo hadn't even been observing him at all but had simply dumped him in the forest as a temporary punishment and would berate him for taking so long to return.

_Or, perhaps,_ the voice of doubt had whispered, _this is not Hojo's doing at all. _

His progress through the forest had been slow at first. The land that bordered the stream was swampy and difficult to traverse. Breeds of snakes he couldn't identify had hung from the low branches and slithered through the muck beneath his bare feet. He had felt the eyes of predators upon him as he'd trudged through the mire. The unseen enemies had seemed to be weighing him, watching him closely to determine whether or not to attack.

And, now, as he sat beneath a shelter of roughly-thatched limbs, peering out into the darkness, he knew what decision the beasts had made. A heavy downpour earlier in the day had left him with no dry wood to start a fire. This lack of flames had emboldened the creatures, and as night fell, he began to see red eyes hovering in the dark spaces between the trees, their stares unblinking. Sephiroth tightened his hold on the spear, waiting.

Seconds ticked by as silence descended on the swamp. The night fowl and insects ceased their songs. The faint wind stilled. Out of the corner of Sephiroth's eye, a fat drop of moisture fell from the point of a leaf, and as it shattered against the ground, the beasts lunged.

Sephiroth leapt to his feet, swinging his spear in a low wide arc that sent the first dark shape sprawling. Bringing his weapon around quickly, he thrust the spear point into one of the six crimson eyes still headed for him. A sharp wail pierced the air as the blow connected, but before Sephiroth could pull the spear free, the third beast slammed into his chest, its jaws snapping for his throat as its claws raked down his bare torso.

The force of the blow landed Sephiroth on his back, the beast falling with him. Rancid breath filled his nostrils as the creature's three bloody eyes glared into his own.

_A three-eyed wolf?_ Sephiroth wondered as they briefly locked gazes. He had never seen such creatures this close to the city.

A low growl reverberated through the wolf's chest, but before it could go for his throat again, Sephiroth brought a soggy branch between its open jaws, using the leverage to throw the beast off him. As the wolf righted itself, Sephiroth rolled to the side, grasping in the darkness for the butt of his spear.

By the time his fingers found purchase, the beast was on him once more. Sephiroth rammed his knee into its side, and with a sharp tug, managed to yank the spear free. As the wolf rounded on him for the third time, Sephiroth sat up quickly, driving the point of the spear through its thick neck.

The wolf's hot blood flowed onto the skin of Sephiroth's leg, its great shaggy form sagging onto the end of his spear. Bracing his foot against the creature's muscled chest, he slid the spear back, letting the corpse fall noiselessly to the damp earth.

As Sephiroth got to his feet, he heard a faint whimpering a short distance away. Keeping his weapon firmly in hand, he made his way over to the source of the sound and found that it belonged to the first wolf he'd attacked with his spear. The wolf lay on its side, a dark wetness gleaming in the fur that covered its stomach. It seemed that the point of the spear had managed to rake across the creature's belly before sweeping its legs out from under it.

Feeling somehow sorry for the wolf, Sephiroth let the spearhead slip between its ribs and pierce the heart below. A moment later the creature stilled, its ugly head lolling to the side.

By then dawn had broken, suffusing the swamp with pale eerie light. Sephiroth saw that his body was caked with mud and blood—not a little of it his own. During the heat of battle, he'd hardly noticed that he'd been injured, but now, as he saw the blood still seeping from his abdomen, he felt the sear of pain.

Crouching down next to a murky pool, Sephiroth washed himself as best he could, cringing as the water flowed over his wounds. The wolf's claws had scored him well, but the scratches were only superficial. Still, the longer he remained in this fetid swamp, the greater the chances of infection. If the wound festered, his odds of survival were slim.

Snapping off the thick fluted stem of a nearby trumpet plant, Sephiroth drank the fresh water collected in the outer chambers of the stalk. After drinking three stems' worth, he used a fourth to carefully wash his wounds again. Using the sun to verify his direction of travel, he took up his bloodied spear and resumed his journey.

Two more days passed before the ground beneath his feet began to harden, the moss-covered water oaks gradually replaced by elms and pines. As the rotten logs and slime gave way to a forest floor covered with leaves and rich green ferns, the canopy of trees parted, revealing a broad clear stream. Once again, Sephiroth was able to dine on fresh fish as opposed to lizards and snakes.

Though his mood improved with the change in scenery, his injury was not faring as well as he'd expected. Despite his attempts to keep his wounds clean and dry, the skin around the scratches had become red and inflamed. He was honestly surprised at how quickly the infection had overtaken him. Hadn't Hojo always touted his so-called superior genetics?

Superior or not, Sephiroth knew he needed antibiotics—and soon. He'd applied a few plant oils to the scratches, but those oils had only analgesic properties. Natural sources of antibiotics were scarce, and he knew of no such sources existing in this region of the world.

As Sephiroth considered his predicament, night drenched the wilderness in a wash of black. Above him, the familiar stars glittered, pinpricks of light shining through the dark fabric of the sky. By Sephiroth's calculation, the city of Midgar couldn't be more than a day away. He'd allow himself to rest for now and recover some of his strength. He couldn't remember ever feeling so tired…

When Sephiroth woke, the sun was already high overhead. Though his bed of ferns had been pleasantly soft, he'd slept poorly. The pain-killing oils had worn off during the night, and his wounds troubled him. But more than the physical pain, he felt a lingering sense of dread. His dreams had been…unpleasant. All he could remember upon waking was a riot of color and sound, yet he knew that in his subconscious mind, these elements had formed some clear and terrible image.

Brushing aside his inexplicable dismay, Sephiroth drank and bathed in the cold water of the stream before striking out into the trees. The sun hung low in the sky when at last his surroundings began to change.

He emerged into a curious landscape. Trees still grew thickly here, but amidst them, huge vine-covered monuments jutted up from the earth, gleaming dully in the twilight. As Sephiroth weaved between these structures, it did not take him long to realize that he stood in the ruins of some ancient city. The colossal chunks of metal appeared to be the remains of buildings and bridges, long since overtaken by the hand of nature.

"How can this be?" Sephiroth wondered aloud, his face a mask of confusion. The sound of his voice resonated in the silence of the ruined city.

What he saw made no sense to him. These ruins simply did not exist.

And yet, a strange sense of nostalgia prickled at the edges of his mind. Some of the buildings had a familiar shape, corroded and bent though they had become through the ages. As if in a daze, he wandered among the steel bones of what had once been a vast civilization, steadily making his way to the center of the city.

In the heart of the ruins stood a lone tower, crippled and leaning. Dreamlike, Sephiroth approached it, his fingers reaching out to brush away the mat of vines that framed the gaping mouth of the tower's entrance. Beneath the dense foliage, the metal bore a fading red mark—a single bloody diamond, with the words "Shinra Electric Power Company" inscribed in its center.

Sephiroth recoiled as if burned, his green eyes widening in disbelief. The cuts on his torso stung viciously as his mind struggled to make sense of his discovery.

This ruin...was Midgar.

_Was the city attacked?_ He considered the possibility for only a moment. An attack might explain some of the physical damage to the buildings but could not account for the encroaching vegetation. Only the passage of hundreds of years could have enabled the forest to grow to such an extent.

_Hundreds of years…no, that's impossible_. Sephiroth closed his eyes briefly against the mounting hysteria, gritting his teeth. _I must be hallucinating. Perhaps the wolf's claws were laced with poison… _

Numbly, he lowered himself to the grassy earth beside the tower. Leaning back against the soft curtain of vines, he shut his eyes again, trading one darkness for another.

_I'll sleep_, he decided firmly. _I'll sleep, and when I wake, these ruins will be no more. _

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**A/n:** Thanks for reading! I'm really excited about where this story will go - next chapter's already halfway done! I know this chapter was pretty short, but please drop a review and let me know what you think so far. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: No. Just no.**

**Author's note: _Warning!_** This chapter contains adult situations and depictions of child abuse.

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**Children of Gaia**

_Chapter Two_

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When the next day dawned, Sephiroth found that his surroundings remained unchanged. Resolving not to dwell on the how or why of his circumstances, he instead shifted his focus to the task of survival and, with this objective in mind, cautiously approached the black maw of the tower's entrance. Spear clutched firmly in hand, he crossed the threshold into the room beyond, a makeshift torch lighting his way.

Inside, Sephiroth saw that the giant staircase in the center of the room had caved in, and a family of foxes had taken up residence in the rubble. At the sight of him, the animals fled, grabbing up each cub by the scruff of its neck. Leaves and mushrooms were scattered across the once-carpeted floor, water dripping from holes in the roof above. He quickly discovered that the side staircase had similarly collapsed, making it impossible for him to reach the upper levels.

However, with some effort, Sephiroth eventually managed to squeeze through the partially opened door to the basement. As he descended the corroded staircase, his torchlight fell on the amber eyes of a gigantic armored lizard. It hissed at him menacingly, advancing up the stairs. One stab with his spear forever halted its progress, but the creature was not alone. As Sephiroth reached the bottom landing, he found that the basement floor was flooded with several feet of stagnant water—and that three more sets of eyes were glaring up at him from the slimy surface.

Sephiroth did not relish the idea of taking on three enemies at once—not in his current condition at least. So, carefully, he lured the first two one-by-one up the stairs, dispatching them each with a sure thrust of his spear. The last lizard proved more problematic. As the creature lumbered up the creaking steps, a sudden twist of its neck deflected the spear point from its eye and into the hard grey scales of its shoulder, causing the wood near the top of the shaft to shatter. With a loud splash, the stone spearhead slipped through a gap in the metal planks and into the water below.

Cursing, Sephiroth threw the useless stick in his hands away, conscious that the narrow stairway on which he fought was now more of a hindrance than a help. Fortunately, the massive lizard wasn't a particularly agile enemy on land, and Sephiroth easily sidestepped its clumsy forward charge, rushing past it down the staircase and into the murky water. He needed to locate the spear point immediately; the lizard would have a decided advantage over him here.

Sephiroth moved as quickly as he could to the area under the stairs, the lizard's claws clacking against the metal boards above him. By the time his foot touched the sharp stone, the sound of clawed footsteps had ceased, and a pair of amber eyes was gliding towards him. Plunging his arm below the surface of the water, he grabbed the rock just as the creature opened its jaws near his face.

Sephiroth jerked to the side, bringing up his left arm and stabbing the point of the spearhead through the lizard's eye. The creature made a horrible gurgling sound in the water, a thin foul-smelling fluid pouring from its eye onto Sephiroth's hand. Wrenching his arm away in disgust, he waded back to the bottom of the stairs.

Since the torch had gone out during his fight in the water, Sephiroth had to leave the tower to light a new one from the embers of the small fire he'd built near the entrance. When he returned to the basement, now holding merely a sharp rock in his hand for a weapon, he kicked the carcasses of the lizards aside and sloshed towards the back of the room. The torchlight revealed a series of gun safes. The safes were designed to be both airtight and watertight, so there was a chance their contents might still be preserved.

Two of the five safes had been dented in so badly that Sephiroth knew he wouldn't be able to open them, but the remaining three looked promising. As he approached the first safe, he held the torchlight steady over the combination lock. Typically, Shinra gun safes were equipped with two types of locks: an electronic keypad lock and a standard combination lock. The standard lock was installed to ensure that Shinra guards still had a means of accessing emergency firearms in the event of a total power outage.

Each combination consisted of five digits. The first two were always 3 and 1, in that order, but the last three could be any number from 0 to 9 and were assigned randomly, so Sephiroth would simply have to try all possible combinations until he found the one that worked.

He spent nearly an hour opening the first safe—only to find that it was empty. Discouraged, he wondered whether unlocking the last two was even worth the effort. Eventually, though, he resumed the tedious task and began entering combinations on the second safe. This time, to his luck, the lock clicked open on the fifth try.

Inside were two standard issue assault rifles, a small pile of detachable magazines, and—to his surprise—a spare soldier's boots and uniform. It was prohibited for soldiers to store items other than guns and ammunition in these safes, but many did so anyway, treating the gun safes as extra storage lockers. Whoever this particular rule-breaker had been, Sephiroth was grateful to him.

Grabbing the guns, ammo, and clothing, Sephiroth returned to the outside world beyond the tower and sat down in the grass to more closely examine his prizes. One of the rifles was in poor condition, but the other seemed operable. He clipped one of the magazines in place and was able to fire off a few test rounds. Sephiroth despised guns, but any weapon was better than none at all. A gun would at least allow him to hunt game with ease, and this particular model had a bayonet attachment for close combat.

Next, he turned his attention to the blue soldier's uniform. The pants and jacket were composed of a strong and highly durable polymer blend, so Sephiroth wasn't particularly surprised that they had endured. What did surprise him was that a white cotton undershirt had also managed to survive the prolonged storage. The shirt was somewhat less flexible than it must have originally been, but otherwise it seemed remarkably well-preserved. Loath as he was to destroy it, Sephiroth decided that he would shred the shirt into bandage strips. His already infected wounds had torn open during the fight, and he needed to do all that he could to protect his injured torso until he reached civilization.

He found the pants to be a decent fit, if a little short, but the jacket was too tight across his chest and stomach for him to zipper it shut without irritating his injury. He simply left it hanging open and reached for the black vinyl boots, which, to his relief, fit almost perfectly.

Stuffing his pockets with ammo and slinging the strap of the working rifle over his shoulder, Sephiroth struck out in search of fresh water. A few hours of daylight remained yet.

As he ventured into the ruins of Midgar, he kept his ears alert for the sound of rushing water, his eyes watchful for the glimmer of a stream's surface. After about an hour of fruitless searching, a flock of birds overhead captured his attention. He watched the birds land in the woods a short distance away to the east and decided to follow them. He had read somewhere that forest-dwelling species often nested along streams.

And, indeed, as he approached the area where he'd seen the birds settle, a wide straight creek cut through the trees like a silver blade. Relieved, Sephiroth knelt when he reached the rocky bank, stripping off his jacket. After rinsing the cuts with several handfuls of water, Sephiroth set to work reducing the white cotton shirt to strips of fabric. He tied the strips end-to-end and carefully wound the long rope of cloth around his torso, packing in a few beneficial leaves he'd found earlier in the forest. The oils from the leaves could now remain in close contact with his scratches overnight, hopefully alleviating most of the pain so that he could rest.

When at last Sephiroth returned to the remains of Shinra HQ, the stars were out. He'd managed to shoot a rabbit on his way back from the creek, and his kill hung over his shoulder along with his rifle, a pile of dead branches in his arms. Without preamble, he entered the ruined doorway of the tower and set to work building a fire. Unsurprisingly, the foxes he'd scared away earlier in the day were nowhere in sight.

As the flames danced and crackled over the fire pit, Sephiroth set to work cleaning the rabbit. It was a messy task, and soon his hands were smeared with blood well past the wrist, a few flecks even speckling his cheeks and the silver fall of his hair. Once the animal had been skinned and gutted, Sephiroth skewered it on a piece of extra firewood and leaned the stick a few inches above the flames, securing it in place with a few chunks of rubble. As the meat roasted, Sephiroth cleansed his hands in one of the cold, dark pools scattered across the sunken floor. By the time he'd scraped the last of the blood out from under his fingernails, the meat was ready to be turned. While Sephiroth waited for the rabbit to finish roasting, he contemplated what his next move should be.

He decided that he would return to the stream tomorrow morning to clean and dress his wounds. Beyond that, he wasn't certain. He knew that his infection was worsening and that he needed medicine or at least a healing materia. His first thought had been to strike out towards the coast of the continent in the hope of finding civilization, but he honestly doubted he could survive such a journey in his current state of health. Perhaps his best option, then, was simply to remain here in Midgar for now and search for supplies. He'd managed to find weapons and clothes, after all—there was at least a small chance he might discover a remedy or some sort of useful materia amid the ruins.

That night, Sephiroth slept well, and when morning arrived, he set out for the brook with renewed strength, despite the persistent aching of his wounds. As the trees thinned and the water came in sight, Sephiroth suddenly found himself frozen in his tracks, his green eyes widening in surprise.

_Is that…a girl?_

Quickly, he concealed himself behind the closest tree, waiting a few moments before hazarding another look. Before him, only a short distance away, a naked girl stood waist-deep in the stream, her long brown hair trailing out behind her in the swift current.

As she turned towards him, he caught a glimpse of her face. Her skin was pale and unblemished, her eyelids lowered as she concentrated on washing her arms. Long dark lashes cast shadows over cheeks tinged red from the chill of the water, the bow of her rosy lips curving faintly into a smile.

With a start, Sephiroth realized that she was beautiful.

Apparently satisfied that her arms were clean, the girl began to pour handfuls of water down her chest, her tiny pink nipples hardening from the cold. As she ran her hands over her small round breasts, heat rose in Sephiroth's face, and he ripped his eyes away from her in sudden awareness.

Hojo had always maintained that women were a weakness, a distraction. A stumbling block to the strong. He remembered the scientist's seemingly endless lectures on the subject, his mandates that Sephiroth remain above such pathetic yearnings.

Then Sephiroth remembered that he was now several hundred years in the future and that Hojo was dead.

When he looked back again, the girl was standing on the far shore. Beads of moisture trailed down her skin, glittering in the sun. She leaned over the water's edge and wrung out her hair, portions of which had already begun to dry in gentle waves. As she straightened, he finally saw her eyes. They were a deeper green than his own, reminding him sharply of the grassy fields that had once surrounded Midgar.

Eventually, Sephiroth realized that the girl was not going put on clothes and made an effort not to let his gaze linger on her chest or on the small thatch of brown curls at the junction of her thighs. Still, when she finally turned her back to him and entered the woods, he released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and waited for his body to stop throbbing before he followed her.

He kept his distance, treading quietly and carefully across the forest floor, although the girl didn't seem particularly vigilant. She hummed softly as she walked and, after about half an hour of simply moving in a straight line, turned quite suddenly to the right, as if she had an internal compass guiding her.

It wasn't long before the woods began to thin and a small meadow came into view. Tall and slender, the stalks of grass rippled in the gentle breeze, taking on a velvety sheen as they bent and swayed. Brightly colored flowers dotted the sea of soft green, spreading out from a dense clump of blooms in the center of the meadow. It was at this bed of flowers that the girl's journey appeared to end.

Crouched at the edge of the clearing, Sephiroth watched her settle down amidst the blossoms, taking care not to crush the tender stems. Pale, delicate fingers sifted through the thick tangle of her chestnut hair, smoothing out the knots and weaving in a few newly-plucked violets. Her work done, she let her eyes close, a serene expression on her face.

For hours she simply sat there, apparently meditating. Sephiroth studied her features intently, noting the subtle changes in her expression. At times, the hint of a smile on her lips would turn suddenly to a slight frown, and her brows would knit together almost imperceptibly. Once accustomed to their signs, he saw that her moods dappled across her face like ever-changing shadows, the air around him seeming to echo her sentiments with every rise and fall of the wind. It seemed to whisper to him, both loving and violent by turns.

Goosebumps prickled his skin as he continued to stare at her in primal fascination. Intuitively, he knew that there was something secret and strange about this girl and this place. The corner of his lip rose in faint amusement as he recalled the story books he'd smuggled into his cell as a child, tales of a fairy queen who lived in an enchanted forest and of the men who chased after her, never to return.

For perhaps the hundredth time, his heated gaze traced the curve of her exposed breast, sunlight shining in the thick fall of hair that obscured the other. As he watched her lips part in a soft sigh, his throat went dry, and he straightened slowly. Before he could take one step in her direction, her eyes suddenly opened, breaking the spell, and Sephiroth sank to a crouch again, his heart beating wildly.

Meanwhile, in the meadow, the girl stood, wincing as she rubbed her lower back. Gingerly, she picked her way across the small field, to the distant edge where the fruit trees appeared most dense. Rising on tiptoe, she managed to shake down a couple of plums and sat in the shade to eat them. Feeling his own stomach beginning to rumble, Sephiroth pulled down a pear from a nearby tree and devoured it in a few bites. To his right he noticed a thorny patch of blackberries and carefully extracted a handful. By the time he had finished eating, the girl had returned to her bed of flowers, a peaceful expression on her face once more.

Sephiroth's hope that she would lead him to civilization dwindled with the light of day. As night fell and the girl bedded down at the center of the clearing, he was forced to conclude that she was just as alone in this wilderness as he was. A dull ache accompanied his disappointment, reminding him that he still needed to cleanse his wounds. Yet he was reluctant to leave the girl alone, knowing the kinds of creatures that stalked these ruins.

Rustling through the leaves in a fragrant breath, the summer wind seemed to answer his doubts, caressing his cheek in a way that was almost human.

_She is safe here_, he knew, though he could not say how.

Vaguely reassured, Sephiroth rose and left the meadow behind. His Mako enhancement afforded him better night vision than an ordinary human, allowing him to find his way back to the stream with little difficulty. Shrugging out of his jacket, he carefully unwound his cloth bandage and peeled off the leaves that stuck to his skin. The scratches were tender and hot to the touch. As he prodded them, a small amount of pus leaked out. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Sephiroth took off his boots and pants and waded into the stream.

After an initial sting, the cool water felt marvelous on his skin, and he let out a sigh of relief. Scooping up clean sand from the streambed, he scrubbed his chest, arms, and legs before tackling his hair. When at last this chore was done, Sephiroth let his attention wander back to the girl. Images of her bathing in the stream rose to the forefront of his mind, and suddenly the water didn't feel as cold to him as it had before.

He remembered how the droplets of moisture had trickled down the flat plane of her stomach, beading like a scattering of diamonds in the dark place where her thighs met. He remembered how her hands had glided over nipples stiff from the chill of the stream and then imagined that the hands on her were his own, and they were traveling lower, reaching between her legs as he reached between his own…

A few strokes later and he was done, the current carrying away his seed as soon as it spilled against his palm. Disturbed, Sephiroth scrubbed his hands with sand until they bled and then splashed back to shore, where he hastily redid his bandages and shoved into his clothes.

The trip back to Shinra tower was a darkened blur. Once inside, he headed for the nearest corner, not bothering to light a fire. Setting down his gun, he lowered himself to the unyielding floor, drawing his knees to his chest. Despite the sear of pain in his abdomen, he eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

He dreamed he was twelve years old again, lying awake one night in the darkness of his small cell, unable to find a comfortable position on the hard mattress beneath him. For no real reason, he slipped his hand below the thin sheet and then under the waistband of his pajamas.

It had been awhile since he'd touched himself like that, and so he was completely unprepared when a gush of warm, sticky liquid accompanied the bliss of his release. Wrenching off his soaked pajama bottoms, he threw them to the floor, wiped his hands on the sheet, and then suddenly it was morning, and Hojo was barging into his cell.

When Hojo saw the dirty pants and sheets and hands, he demanded that Sephiroth confess what he'd done the night before. Then, quick as a snake, the scientist was grabbing him by the arm and dragging him half-naked down the hallway towards the showers.

Once inside, Hojo shoved Sephiroth beneath a spray of scalding water and made him scrub between his legs with a washcloth until his skin was raw and red and bleeding. He told Sephiroth that what he'd done was disgusting and base. A shameful waste of his precious DNA.

When the boy quietly argued that it had felt good, Hojo advanced on him, knocking the washcloth aside and clamping his fingers around Sephiroth's chafed manhood like a vise. Shoving the boy against the tiled wall, the scientist pumped him brutally, and he felt himself harden even as he screamed in pain.

His skin split, drops of blood swirling down the drain, and then he was pulling back, pulling out his sword, a terrible euphoria washing over him as the girl with chestnut hair slumped forward lifelessly.

"_Does it feel good now?" _Hojo hissed at him in her voice.

Sephiroth's eyes shot open, his pupils shrinking to slits in the early dawn light. For a while he simply sat there, still holding his knees to his chest as he tried to dispel the terrible afterimage of his dream. When the memory persisted, he pushed himself to his feet, cringing at the stiffness in his muscles. Slinging the gun over his shoulder, he left the tower, hoping that hunting for game would distract him.

Yet as soon as he emerged into the surrounding ruins, he found his feet traveling towards the creek instead. Once again, the girl was there, bathing obliviously in the cool water. When she left, he followed her as before, remaining her shadow until just after sunset. In the waxing darkness, he hunted and bathed and pleasured himself to stolen glimpses of her body and then, feeling somewhat less wretched than he had felt the day before, returned to the tower to cook his kills and replay the nightmare of his youth behind closed eyes.

For the next week, he continued in this pattern, watching as the girl grew more restless with each passing day. Her meditations seemed only to make her angry, and so she had taken to pacing around the clearing instead, shredding blades of grass and throwing rotten pears against tree trunks. Her bouts of temper both amused and troubled him, and daily he wondered whether he should make his presence known to her, only to dismiss the thought a moment later due to some unfathomable reservation.

Then, one morning, the girl lingered by the stream longer than usual. Perched atop a large flat rock, she wove her fingers through her still-damp hair, a faraway look in her emerald eyes. Slowly, lazily, her hand wandered from her hair to her stomach and then to the dusting of light brown curls between her thighs. Scarcely able to breathe, Sephiroth watched as her legs opened unknowingly in his direction, revealing the tender pink folds of her sex. As she stroked herself, Sephiroth resisted the almost painful urge to do the same, determined to have no distractions as he branded every detail of the scene before him into his memory.

When she dipped a finger into the glistening wetness of her core, Sephiroth dug his nails into his thighs. After inserting and withdrawing another finger, the girl tossed back her luxuriant hair with her free hand and then cupped her left breast, rolling the nipple between her thumb and forefinger as her right hand slid damply over her folds, worrying at the small nub of flesh near the top.

Her movements soon grew erratic, beads of sweat trailing down the valley between her breasts as her hips surged against her hand, a wordless cry escaping her lips, and Sephiroth knew that she was done and that he had never in his life wanted anything as desperately as he wanted her.

This time, when she finally left the stream, Sephiroth did not follow. It was only under the cover of darkness that he later made his way to the meadow where she slept. Leaving his boots at the edge of the clearing, he crept forward silently and, reaching the center of the small field, knelt next to her in the flower bed.

Curled slightly, the girl lay on her side, somehow even more lovely by night than by day. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the weak moonlight, her glossy brown waves flowing over her shoulder and down her back, weaving amongst the blossoms that fanned out beneath her.

Sephiroth lightly touched the bangs that framed her face, his fingers trailing from there to the line of her jaw. When he reached her chin, he brushed his thumb over her soft lips and wondered briefly how they would taste.

The girl slept on soundly as he continued to explore her with his eyes and his hands, his erection soon straining against the confines of his pants. Divesting himself of his clothing, Sephiroth tipped her carefully onto her back, spreading her legs with a knee. Her long lashes fluttered as he slid his fingers down her stomach and through the soft thatch of curls that blanketed her sex.

When at last he cupped her with his hand, the girl shivered, tucking her arms to her chest, and Sephiroth drew back, her feeble tremors burning through the haze of his lust like sunlight through fog.

As if for the first time, he saw how the thorny undergrowth had torn at her flesh, wreathing her legs in jagged cuts. He saw the frailty of her limbs, her smooth white skin stretched parchment thin over her ribs and pelvis. He saw how her lungs strained with every breath and realized that as he hovered above her he was no different from the three-eyed wolf with its slavering jaws and hellish gaze.

When had he so thoroughly abandoned his self-control, to prey upon this helpless girl like the lowest sort of criminal? Somewhere in this strange wilderness, he seemed to have misplaced his better judgment, drunk on the headiness of his unbridled lusts.

He rose and moved away from her prone form, his movements leaden as he pulled on his pants and jacket and prepared to leave the meadow. He had taken a few steps towards the edge of the clearing when a sudden thought arrested him. Returning to the girl's side, he shrugged out of the jacket he'd just donned and laid it over her, covering her nakedness, the dense fabric putting an end to the faint shivers that wracked her frame.

With one last, long glance at her face, Sephiroth left the clearing and headed directly to the tower, not even pausing at the creek to tend to his injury. Reclining against the broken staircase, he peeled off the bandages that hid his wounded torso, the acrid stench of rotting flesh making his empty stomach turn. As hour after hour ticked past, Sephiroth's skin began to flush with fever, a light sweat breaking out on his skin. Despite the heat and the pain, exhaustion forced him at last into a dream-filled, restless sleep.

An unpleasant crawling sensation in his abdomen brought him back into the waking world the following afternoon. Dazed by a fever that refused to break, Sephiroth propped himself up awkwardly on his elbows and tried to focus his blurring vision on the muscles of his stomach. Dozens of tiny white grubs swam before his eyes, meandering in and among the scratches the wolf had dealt him. Making a sound of disgust, Sephiroth attempted to swat them away, only to lose his balance and topple to the side, his ribs jarring against the cool concrete floor.

The force of the impact winded him, sapping what little remained of his strength. Keeping his eyes open became too difficult a task, and Sephiroth slipped once more into the realm of unconsciousness, plagued by fever dreams and ghosts who would not die.

Perhaps two days passed before Sephiroth woke again, the fever having finally ceased its reign. His mouth was desert dry, his muscles weak and sore. A long time passed before he gathered the strength to stand, leaning heavily on the staircase and then the wall for support.

It seemed that a heavy rain had fallen while he'd slept, leaving pools of clear water still standing just beyond the tower's entrance. All but collapsing to his knees, Sephiroth drank from the nearest pool in great, greedy handfuls, most of the water he raised to lips sloshing down his chest instead.

When he'd finally drunk his fill, he leaned against the vine-covered façade, his eyelids almost sliding shut again until, with a shock, he remembered the maggots and looked down at his torso in alarm—only to find that the little grubs had already moved on, leaving swathes of shiny pink skin in their wake. _Healed _skin.

Knowing that his dead flesh had filled the bellies of a hundred or more maggots was not a comfortable thought, but, all the same, Sephiroth was glad to be rid of the infection. Freed from the near constant pain of his injuries, he found that he had the energy to truly explore his surroundings, although the search for more supplies ultimately proved fruitless.

He no longer spied on the girl while she bathed, using his mornings and afternoons to hunt, fish and try his hand at fashioning a bow. She had grown far too wary now for him to remain near her for extended periods of time, but he checked on her at least once a day, a strange sense of pride filling him whenever he saw her wearing the jacket he'd given her or eating the cooked meat he set out for her daily.

As the days passed, he watched her put on a healthy weight and began to seriously consider how he should approach her. He had decided that the two of them should leave this place and look for civilization, as he'd originally intended to do himself. The summer months wouldn't last forever, and they would need to find refuge before the cold set in.

During his silent deliberations, he labored on his bow. After several failed attempts, Sephiroth finally managed to construct a working bow from the green wood of a maple branch and several feet of dried, twisted vine. After considerably more failed attempts, he finally brought down a rather large rabbit using one of the arrows he'd painstakingly fletched with mockingbird feathers.

He left the choicest parts of the kill to the girl and when he returned to the clearing late that night, felt a smile tug at his lips upon finding that the rabbit had been reduced to a neat heap of bones. Crossing over to her through the dewy grass, he crouched at her side, examining her tranquil features in the dark.

His desire for her had not faded. He still longed to take her in his arms and make her cry out as she had that day at the stream, and in his private moments she always did. Yet he swore that whether or not she ever gave herself to him in reality, he would not abandon her.

A connection existed between them that he could not begin to place. Though he had only been near her for a short time, he felt the strongest sense of familiarity whenever he looked into her eyes. He had no doubt that when he did confront her she would sense it too.

Reaching forward, Sephiroth brushed his fingertips across the back of her hand.

"Tomorrow," he promised quietly, leaving the girl to her rest.

* * *

**__Author's note: **I realize that in the game the main entrance of Shinra tower lies above the plate, but in this fic I'm assuming that the tower also extended below the plate and had a main entrance on the ground floor, which was used for perhaps military or storage purposes. Artistic license!

**_Thanks for reading! Please take a few seconds to leave a review...I only got feedback from one person for the last chapter. :'(_**


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